


Cold Wayward Eight

by Coyotebee



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Crossover, Diary/Journal, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-06
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coyotebee/pseuds/Coyotebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis got his face close to mine. “We can’t ever live away from each other. Do you know that, Haz?”</p><p>Charmed by the remark, I beamed and needed to pet his chin, his tiny chin that fit into my palm. “I suppose I do. If you go to Arctic, I will go to Arctic.”</p><p>“I like penguins and skiing. It could happen.”</p><p>“We are bound together.”</p><p>***</p><p>The media have been swarming around Harry Styles and his friends from Abersham High School, reporting on a crime they had allegedly been involved in. By sharing his journal with the public, Harry straightens out their story, a story featuring chaotic nights, great food, unrequited love, and a friend who was impossibly loyal -- Louis Tomlinson. A Basic Eight crossover and High School AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a crossover of The Basic Eight by Daniel Handler. I'm really hoping he'll never ever read this. Apologies to Flannery Culp as well.

**Preface**  
I, Harry, wondered what it was like to be famous and, you know, I wanted to be famous. It was kind of one of the reasons I started singing, hoping I’d be performing in the O2 Arena or Wembley or wherever when I got older. I don’t wonder anymore, to be honest. I know what it’s like. Sort of. I had cameras flashing into my eyes and journalists competing for the space beside me when I walked into the courthouse for the first time.

Some journalist behind me actually asked, “Is your hair naturally curly?” First rumour for me to address: Yeah. Yeah, my hair is naturally curly. Thanks for asking. Of all the things I needed to clear up, that was the first on the list.

Next question: “Why did you do it?”

Obviously that’s a long, long answer.

I’m writing this on a typewriter because us delinquents aren’t allowed to use computers on our own time in here. The closest I kind of get to the Internet is when I read the printouts of my old online journal entries. They’re for me and my therapist to look over, see where my head got things wrong, and now I’m copying those entries neatly onto paper because there are revisions I need to make to them. To the fine people of Great Britain and to the rest of the world –- these revisions are small. You, the public, want the firsthand account, so here it is.

The only major changes: I cut out some of the moments between me and Louis. Those were, you know, quite personal, and he’s not yours to judge. Judge me all you want, I’m letting you, but not him. (Note: I think this paragraph will be quotable. Can possibly be used on the back cover.)

While rereading my journal, I think I kind of see the alternate routes me and my friends could have taken. Yes, friends. I’m not going to use the stupid name the BBC calls us. We’re a _group of friends_ , not a cult or, like, a band of psychopaths.

On my wall, I have a photograph of us and I never see how we could be anything else than a group of friends. There we are, sprawled all over the couch. At the back and in the centre is Liam, the brightest of us all, our captain who navigated us through every school year. Wedged between him and Z___ is Florence, the lovely fierce Florence. Z___, obviously the best-looking of us all and knows it, has his head slightly turned to emphasize his cheekbones. Perched on the armrest is Jane, nondescript as usual but her smile is better than Florence’s, less forced, I think. Niall is leaning back on the couch and the flash is bright enough so you can’t tell he has braces. Josh has got an arm over his shoulders and one over mine too, and below me, sitting on the floor against my legs, is Louis. He’s looking as good as Z___ and for once he didn’t ham up his smile.

That’s us, a bunch of mates, not psychos. Believe me.


	2. Aug. 25 - Sept. 8

**To:** Kevin Staple  
 **From:** Harry Styles  
 **Date:** August 25, 10:43 p.m.  
 **Subject:** Hello

Hi Kevin

This is out of the blue. It’s been like months since we spoke, but I’ve been in New York City for the past week and today I remembered the advice you gave me. You were spot on about it being best to sit back and people-watch rather than go to every tourist attraction. You get to see New Yorkers, not tourists. Did you go to the Empire State Building? Louis keeps e-mailing me, saying it’s overrated (you know Louis right? You must. There’s nobody at Abersham who doesn’t). I hope you’ve been enjoying your summer.

Harry

 **To:** Kevin Staple  
 **From:** Harry Styles  
 **Date:** August 25, 11:28 p.m.  
 **Subject:** Hello again

I have more thing to say about New York. All I want to sort of add is that Johnny Rocket’s is wondrous. How dare you not mention it to me earlier. I think it’s a revelation. Will be sad to leave this grand American establishment behind. I hope I’ll see you soon? 

Harry

11:08PM Sept 1  
To: Kevin (xxx-xxx-xxxx)

_I dont how Igot alcoohool cos you supposd to be 21 to dirnk here and I tink Im in love withyou wasthat a rmantic onfesssion_

11:10PM Sept 1  
From: 999-999-9999  
 _To our valued client: Your text message has not been sent. A country code is required for international calls and texts. Please contact customer service for assistance._

 **Monday, September 6**  
Meeting Louis was my first and most important social engagement after the jet lag wore off and turned me back into a person willing to be amongst humans. I took the bus in, so readers, once this journal is published, please label me as an environmentally-friendly criminal, rather than just a criminal.

Louis arrived at the café two minutes after me. In that time, I just scrolled through my e-mails on my phone. No e-mail from Kevin or anything. It’s been a while since those messages. I suppose it was the end of the summer when people panic about their freedom ending and they get off their computers to finally go outside.

I went over my sent mail folder as well. The e-mails weren’t too forward, were they? Can an openly gay boy who randomly contacts a rumoured bisexual ever be discreet? What are your thoughts? Discuss in groups of three to four people.

Louis burst through the entrance and, like, immediately the twenty-something girls sensed an attractive male subject on the premises. They watched him walk over to me. Obviously Louis had been blessed with fast-acting testosterone or something, which made him look like a uni student rather than the teenage boy he really was, one who got his driving licence a mere month ago. Adding to the illusion was his sense of fashion. He learned early to not dress like a chav and was, you know, confident enough to put on pastels, and his hair was arranged into precise swoops and spikes and stuff.

“Hi, Hazza!” Louis said and I got up to hug him. The female gazes downgraded to surreptitious glances.

He fetched our drinks and snacks. He caught a girl looking at him and was like, “Hello, luv!” to her and she blushed. I repeat, a seventeen-year-old made a grown woman blush.

“No biscotti for you?” I asked, noticing he had gotten himself a cinnamon bun.

“My mouth is... rather tired from other activities,” Louis replied and wiggled an eyebrow.

Accustomed to his innuendos, I didn’t flinch. “Let’s talk about that then,” I said. “Oh and can I –”

Louis knew what I was about to ask. He pushed his plate to the centre of the table for me to rip off a bit of the cinnamon bun for myself.

“Not much to say really. Not as much as _your_ love life which you’ve hinted is rather active as of late,” Louis said. Through a bite of his cinnamon bun, he continued. “This girl goes to an all-girl’s school. I enchanted her at a wedding. Nothing serious has come out of it, so that’s the end of my story.”

“Predictable ending,” I said. Not in a, you know, criticizing way. It’s just that Louis has had a variation of this story with six other girls, that’s what I was remarking on.

“I don’t fall in love easily, my friend,” Louis said, shrugging and smirking. “So who’s yours?”

I beamed down at the table. “Kevin Staple. It’s unrequited as far as I know.”

“Kevin Staple? I’ve never heard of him. Does he go to our school? Are you making him up?”

“Yes, he’s as real as you and me, and he goes to our school. I thought he put himself on the map when he came out as bi.”

“Oh, _Kevin Staple!_ ”

“Yeah.”

“In that case, you must make haste in your pursuit, dear boy. Niall mentioned him the other day and said someone’s been sending him e-mails.”

“Yeah?” I said and took a long sip from my drink.

“Yes. That’s all I know. A someone.”

I comforted myself by thinking Louis wouldn’t mention the e-mails had he known I was the sender.

I nodded. “Louis, don’t tell anyone, yeah?”

Louis shifted himself forward, grasped my arm and smiled. “Of course, I won’t!”

Right then, I thought how unbelievably fantastic Louis was as a friend. I felt so, like, safe with him. When you're friends with somebody, you’re supposed to be quite compassionate towards them, I think, and some friends just aren’t like that, and you know, that’s okay. Then there’s other friends, the real ones who do genuinely care for you, but they’re... embarrassed to show it or something? When they manage to choke up nice things, it comes out in a fumbly painful way like they’re in the middle of getting a tooth pulled out as they’re talking to you. Louis wasn’t like that, obviously. He was that incredibly open affectionate friend everyone wants, very loyal, who’ll tell people to fuck off on your behalf, and that’s kind of, you know, the best sort of friend to have. And you know what? We found each other, he was in my daily life, smiling away and fiddling with my hair and riding the bus with me. Knowing someone cares about you like that, who’s not your mum, makes your life just really good. You’re really grateful for that person. I’m still grateful.

 **Tuesday, September 7**  
First day of school. I’ll skip over to choir, the exciting bit: I saw Kevin there. He saw me too and smiled. Perfect teeth. Choir is big though, somewhere around eighty students, so I lost him in the expanse of school uniforms.

Choir was the closest me and my group of alleged lunatics got to being all together for a class: Me, Louis, Liam, Z___, Niall, and Florence. Ladies and gentleman, the Singing Six! I’m laughing at my own joke as I write it.

Spotting Liam, I pounced on him from behind while Louis kind of came in from the side and there was a lot of yelling from us. I hung off of Liam. His daily workouts made him capable of prying me off. He had made himself into this kind of block of muscle over the summer, not massive like an athlete, just like, compact and solid. Z___ appeared, yelling in a fake quasi-German accent, “I’ll save you, Liam!” then joined in on the violent embrace.

Alright, I know you’re asking, “What’s with the ‘Z___’ ? I thought this was a true crime tell-all, Styles.” For once, I’ll be in alliance with the journalists who’ve reported my story –- I’ll leave out my friend’s name like they have. They do it because Z___’s family has paid them off. I do it because, you know, Z___ is part of a minority group. I’m not going to be more specific than that. Writing his full name would also mean writing, “Come on over, racists!”

We broke apart, and I saw Florence had been like, hovering around us, and when she saw Z___ was free, she tucked her hand behind his elbow. Poor girl. Obviously, she had fallen for Z___, maybe at the end of last year, and had been attempting to reel him in the whole summer. Z___ must have been too kind or something to distance himself. That could be the only reason he was letting her hang onto him. If he was interested, he would have made it clear by now, I think. He’s not one to deliberate. They would make a good couple though, dark-haired, both tottering around on their matchstick legs and periodically wearing leather jackets.

While Mr. Evans, our choirmaster, handed out the syllabus for the year, everyone chattered.

“Where’s Niall? You have to ask him for the details on Kevin,” Louis said. Then he jumped onto his seat, put on this stern look and yelled, “WHERE IS NIALL? NIALL TO ROW THREE, PLEASE.”

Mr. Evans interrupted the surround-sound laughter and was said, “ _Mr. Tomlinson!_ Sit down. It’s the first class and you’ll end it on a very bad note if you keep this up.”

There was a beat and within it, Louis had caught the pun like I just did. He opened up his mouth and let out a warbly, tone-deaf “ _AaaAAaaaaAAhhh_.”

I kind of lowered my head and swallowed my laughter. Liam’s method was to press his mouth to my shoulder.

“Do that one more time...” Mr. Evans said coolly.

“I apologize, sir,” Louis said.

When Mr. Evans turned away, me and Louis grinned at each other. Really. Only Louis did this sort of stuff.

Niall was all the way in the corner with his other friends and didn’t come over before choir ended. Niall was the satellite of our group, considering us as headquarters, but he was connected to a vast network that extended to indie kids, stoners, football blokes, nerds, and whoever else. He was quite hard to get hold of. Every clique wanted him and his Irishness around. Naturally, hovering around everyone let him collect gossip.

Crossing the hall as me and Louis came out, were Josh and Jane, the kind of everlasting couple in our group. They were together for a decade. Convert that from teenage years to adult years, and that is a whole year and half. That’s like ages and ages, you know. They spotted me and Louis and we gave each other hugs.

“Your hair looks good,” I said to Jane. Her hair had gone from this like, mousey brown colour to blonde, same shade as Niall’s.

“Doesn’t it? It’s great,” Josh said and brushed her hair back. Happy, she closed her eyes. Oh, love. Whatever that was. Kevin should let me know what it was... Just putting that out there, universe.

“Let’s go, Harry, I’m starving. Are you two coming with?” Louis said.

“I will,” Jane said. “Josh can’t. He’s meeting Niall for football.”

“No, a jam session,” Josh said. Josh had like five hundred bands he was in. He knew how to play guitar, bass, drums, and violin. Out of those, drums were his main thing.

Jane shrugged. “See you,” she said and started walking with me and Louis. We went and sat ourselves down at table outside.

“Dull, dull, _dull_...” Jane said.

“How do you mean?” Louis asked.

“This year. We’re halfway through the first day and I’m already bored.”

“Feel lucky. You don’t have Coleman teaching you this term,” I said. Chemistry with Coleman was my next class. You will get to know him very well later.

“I think actively hating a teacher makes time go quicker,” Jane said.

“Savour the moment, Jane. Here we are, in our last year!” Louis said. “Then it’s off to uni where freedom awaits!”

Several feet behind Jane, Kevin came out from the door. Hopeful and excited, my eyes studied him until I saw the boy’s hair was too straight to be him.

Jane turned, then came back ‘round with a confused face. “Who are you looking for?”

Louis kept a neutral expression, thank God.

“Nobody.”

“A new love interest?”

“No.”

“You’re such an awful liar, Styles,” Jane said. “Who is it?”

I threw my face into my arms, wanting to say the name as much as I didn’t want to.

“Harry, you may as well say it. She’ll pester you forever, if you don’t,” Louis said, patting my back.

“Kevin Staple,” I mumbled.

“Hmm,” Jane said which was not the reaction I was hoping for.

“Don’t judge my boy!” Louis said and slapped the air in front of Jane’s nose.

“No, no. It seems like an... appropriate choice,” Jane said, glancing repeatedly at Louis. Louis got very interested in the peels he just ripped off of his orange. 

“What does that mean?”

I realized our group was quite... exclusive, I suppose. Meaning that we were like, great judges of character and had specific criteria. We kind of never said this out in the open, however, so I really was wondering what Jane was referring to.

“I mean he’s... he’s nice enough. I know Niall hangs out with him occasionally. And to keep your hopes up, I’ve heard he’s single.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Make your move, Haz,” Louis said. He tossed a ball of wrapper into a potted plant twenty feet away. He applauded himself for it. Several other students witnessed the throw and applauded him as well. He immediately stood up and bowed.

 **Wednesday, September 8**  
This morning we were properly brought together, and no one else. It was for an Abersham Voices meeting. Abersham Voices was a deliberate generic title for our singing group because, we weren’t, you know like, an a capella group or a choir or anything. We sort of did whatever. It was a club which Liam assembled and got approved by the staff in the previous year. Liam would make any social gathering on school grounds into a club in order to lengthen his list of extracurricular activities. He was hoping to get into Cambridge next year, and he needed credit for anything he could.

We never advertise Abersham Voices and Liam doesn’t ever follow up on other students’ inquiries into it. It was very intentional – this was our thing, no outsiders allowed. Fortunately, the teacher who supervised us was fine with this. To be honest, all she did while we sang was mark tests and comment on how “lovely” or “sweet” we sounded.

In the first half-hour, we were always concentrated, like, determined to sing our songs well despite the morning croakiness of our throats. Then we’d burn out. The last fifteen minutes were spent chatting.

“Yesterday, Mr. Evans asked me if we wanted to do a performance at the Christmas concert this year,” Liam said. “What do you all think?”

“We should do ‘Silver Bells.’ It’s such a pretty song,” Jane said.

“It’d be cool to do something upbeat,” I said.

“What do you think, Z___? You always have creative song choices,” Liam said.

(Insert your own race-related joke here, one that Z___ would make about himself. Because I needed to delete the original. Protecting identities, you know how it goes.)

Everyone laughed, and Florence laughed the hardest and longest.

“We could do a medley,” Josh suggested when we all recovered.

“We have months to figure this out!” Louis said.

“Yeah, I came here thinking about food. When should our next dinner party be?” Niall said.

“Yes!” Florence said.

So yeah, this lot had dinner parties sometimes, we’re known for them. It just, you know, seemed cool or whatever. Makes you feel more mature and, I dunno, you stand out when you’re a teenager and you eat Delmonico steak off of sparkly plates, sip wine, and have a line of candles on the table. I thought it was quite sophisticated. We all did.

“I really think we should talk about the concert,” Liam said, but Niall had begun throwing out dates. We chose that Saturday.

“Whose place?” Josh asked. 

“Z___’s!” me, Louis, and Niall said in unison.

We always suggest it, everyone else had suggested it at some point, and it turned into a running joke once it was established that Z___’s parents would never allow us street urchins to enter their marble mansion.

“My parent’s won’t –”

“We _knoooooow_ ,” Louis said. “We’re joking.”

Florence agreed to host.

“Who should we put on trial?” Jane asked.

“I’ll write the list,” Liam said and whipped out his notebook. Organization was second nature to him. It was how he fit in revision, tutoring, vocal practice, more revision, and regular exercise into his life.

“Of course, there’s us, the key members,” he said, scribbling quickly onto the top line of the page. He wrote, “The Basic Eight” on it.

“’The Basic Eight’? Sounds like an NME band,” Josh said and I nodded in agreement. Louis randomly poked my cheek. Having a face of a cherub, people were tempted to do that to me.

“It’s better than saying, ‘Liam, Harry, Z___, etcetera.’ I don’t know how else to refer to us,” Liam said. “By the way, I’m including Catherine Mortimer in this party. She’s been hanging out with some of us throughout the summer.”

“Let’s discuss it first. We’re a democracy here, Liam. Take off the crown,” Louis said.

“I wasn’t trying to be pushy. I thought she was a given, especially since she hasn’t been to one of our dinner parties yet.”

“She’s dull,” Josh said.

“She’s not dull,” Z___ said. “She’s great at drawing. Really artistic, knows about film...”

Florence gave him a suspicious look.

“Doesn’t she speak in French sometimes... even when no one in the room knows French?” Florence said.

“Even when she _isn’t_ French?” Josh added.

“That’s what they say,” Louis said.

“Everyone has faults,” I said.

No one except Florence had any real gripes with Catherine, so she was officially a guest.

“Alright, so Catherine fills in the female guest position. Next up is our male guest,” Liam said.

We went through two candidates, Preston Wiltshire and Gregory Maxwell. Neither of them we could really agree on as a collective. Preston barely knew any words beyond “fuck,” “tosser,” “wanker” and “shite”, and Gregory wasn’t a better alternative – he was a first-rate hipster. Knew about music, but was likely to boast about how he was into like, Norwegian hip-hop bands who only had gigs in the catacombs of Paris. That sort of stuff.

This makes us out to be a load of snots, as though it was an honour to be invited to our dinners. I realize that. I admit it was, you know, ridiculous sometimes, us and these ultimately pointless standards we had. I can’t say if the others were as aware of it as I was. I think we attached the idea of exclusivity onto our group because we were considered cool already and we needed to maintain that coolness. Being exclusive was kind of the way to do it. I have no idea why it works like that, but it does. So here we were, judging candidates for our upcoming dinner party.

“How about Kevin Staple?” Niall said, side-eyeing me. Unsurprising that Niall would have heard about this news by now.

“He’d be great,” Jane said and was better than Niall at subtlety.

“He seems interesting,” I said. I tried to match Jane’s subtlety by shrugging. Without looking at me, Louis smirked and knocked my knees with his.

No one disapproved of him as a guest, which had Liam write Kevin’s name down in his notebook. Right when Liam closed it, the bell rang for first class.

So like, here is the part in the future biopic of my life where it goes slow-mo. It’s done to show you how unequivocally awesome this group is. We’re all in, you know, our school uniforms, yet our awesomeness is so powerful, it comes through – you’ve got Jane throwing on her sunglasses despite being indoors, and Z___ and Louis pouting because that’s what gorgeous people get to do. Everyone’s hair is like really perfectly styled -- even mine and I run my fingers through it to look that much cooler -- and we walk with purpose toward the foreground. Boys and girls turn to admire us, how good we look together. None of us tarnish the collective aesthetic by being plain. We’re a force, a force only matched by the footballers and their girlfriends. The audience kind of sees this shot and they’re like, “They’re gonna do something crazy and evil by the end of this movie and they’re gonna look damn attractive why’ll doing it.” Next scene.


	3. Sept. 8 - 11

**Later**  
Nothing else dulls a journal quite like going over what you’ve done in each class. I will use this space to say that, as a well-rounded mediocre student, I was enjoying this second day of school. I like most of my classes. Maths excluded. Obviously, nobody who isn’t a maths genius likes maths. I will boldy state that and hope a teenager somewhere will think it’s a witticism like Oscar Wilde’s, who I’ve just learned about today.

Kevin came in late to choir, meaning that I kind of didn’t have an opportune moment to make eye contact (which, to be honest, would have been the furthest I would’ve have gone). I spent the next hour focused on my vocals, one of the very few things capable of distracting me.

Text messages sent between me and Niall throughout my Chemistry class and his Biology class:

Niall: _Boooooored mate stab me lol_

Harry: _Me too. If my gayness weren’t in the way i’d be oggling the new assistant coleman found himself. All the other boys in here must love this class._

Niall: _i’ve seen her. she reminds me of my aunt sooooooooo_

Harry: _I kind of like chemistry but coleman is making it very dull. Help._

Niall: _Are u going to invite kev to the dinner?? I was going to ask him then thought youd want to._

Harry: _I could._

Niall: _U better i hear someone else likes him. sent e-mails or somethin_

 **Thursday, September 9**  
“Get in, mate,” Z___ said from the depths of his Bentley. His own Bentley, a birthday present from his parents. For my last birthday, my parents got me a couple DVDs.

While he waited for me to go around, he corrected the angle of his quiff. Being the early morning, the product had yet to set in and the hair needed vigilant management in its current vulnerable state. It made me conscious of my own mop. Seriously, a mop. It was like a shih tzu’s. I flicked my fringe, disciplining those curls into order.

Josh and Jane were in the backseat, Jane asleep, head kind of lolling against the window. Z___, on the mornings he felt like taking a roundabout route to school, always picked us up if he saw us poor peasants walking along the pavement.

“Where’s Florence?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” Z___ said too casually. “On the bus, I reckon.”

Z___ knew why I was asking and I wasn’t about to question him further based on his answer. He was quiet about this stuff. He just kind of ignored you and went blank-faced when you pressed him for details.

“Harry, do you want to play football with us after school?” Josh asked.

“Who’s us?”

“Three eighths of the Basic Eight. Me, Z___ and Niall.”

“I better stay in. Homework,” I said. “The Basic Eight? Is that really catching on?”

“It’s a convenient name. Really is,” Zayn said.

There you have it. The Basic Eight. We did not give our group that name because we were a cult or gang. It was for sheer convenience. Z___ said it himself.

We were quiet the rest of the way to Abersham. Until...

“Slow down! Red light!” Josh yelled. The all-at-once assault of his voice, the sudden halt, and the car honking behind us, woke up Jane and made her yelp. My own morning grogginess bolted right out of me.

“Jesus, sorry, I was distracted,” Z___ said. He scowled into the rearview mirror to the vehicle behind. Z___ scowling was not intimidating, I’ll have you know. An attractive person scowling = smouldering sexyface.

“What kind of asshole drives a Lotus?” Z___ asked rhetorically.

I didn’t keep it rhetorical -- I peered into the car to see who the driver was.

“A Coleman kind of asshole,” I said.

“Isn’t he about five years too early to be having a midlife crisis?” Jane said.

If this was anyone but Mr. Coleman driving the Lotus, I wouldn’t have laughed. Coleman called for it though, because his reputation at Abersham was quite shit. Yesterday, he scolded Julie Birch for being late, made a whole speech about it, using her as an example. She started crying, meanwhile he carried on pontificating.

Coleman followed us into the student area of the car park.

“Oh shit,” Josh kept saying. 

I was nervous for Z___, who was channelling his nervousness into anger. Both Z___ and Coleman parked carelessly. We got out as Coleman strode over to us. He was a meaty bloke, extra hunks of flesh on his limbs, and balding. He was wearing his burgundy jumper from yesterday.

“Sir, I got my license two months ago, I make occasional mis—”

“Z___, that’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yes. ”

“Z___, what a miracle! Driving like that earned you a licence!? I was inches from hitting you! Do you know who would’ve been blamed for that?”

“Me.”

“Yes, _you._. What incompetence! All you teenagers!”

“I was just distracted for minute there, sir,” Z___ said.

Coleman looked at me, then and Josh and Jane, but kind of mostly me. I suppose it was because he knew me from class. “By you three?”

“No, not them. About something else,” Z___ quickly said.

“Once again, I question how you earned your licence.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I got my car just last night. Had you damaged it, you would have been paying me thousands, you know. You are extremely fortunate. I –”

“Fantastic car, sir!” a light sparkling voice said from afar. It could only be Louis.

Coleman turned.

“Did you just get it?”

“I’m in the middle of something,” Coleman said.

Louis strolled up to us, up to Coleman. “Really is deadly! With a car like that, you’re possibly the coolest teacher in Abersham.” He took off his aviators. To charm a person, all his fine features needed to be seen.

“Well... thank you.”

“Are those _custom rims_?” Louis said and before Coleman answered, he beckoned two nearby students to come admire the Lotus. Louis prompted compliments out of them. Compliments were more attractive than slagging off students, so Coleman let us go and he joined the admiring students gathered by his car.

Louis turned to us, winking. Z___ locked eyes with him and patted his heart as a wordless thank you.

And based on that pleasant morning incident, I considered it acceptable to not attend Chemistry that afternoon. I wouldn’t miss much, really. I went with Louis to the lake nearby. We were missing choir in doing this as well, but I didn’t want to see Kevin. I feared Niall would, you know, urge me to invite him and I don’t function well under peer pressure.

We passed the football field and realized Liam was sitting by himself at the side. Me and Louis were immediately intrigued. Liam wouldn’t miss any class; he was an excellent student. Truthfully, he wasn’t any cleverer than the rest of us, however he was the hardest working, most determined student out of the whole Abersham population and that was how he got top marks. So him being in a field was sort of worth questioning.

“Liam!” Louis yelled over to him. “What ch’you doin’?” 

“Oh, I’m... waiting for someone I’m supposed to tutor!” Liam shouted.

“During school hours? In a field?”

“Class was cancelled today. And why not, in a field?”

“We’re going to the lake if you’d like to meet us later!” I said. Liam waved us away.

“What was that? He must have been lying,” I said once we continued our walk.

“Niall will tell us soon enough,” Louis said.

The sun had broke out from the clouds by the time we got to the lake. I plopped myself onto the grass and let myself soak in the sunshine. Before joining me, Louis had to release his energy by tearing a branch from a tree and whacking it on a stone.

He came and sat down beside me and we talked and laughed about nothing for a little while. He seemed to take notice of my curls today and tugged at them. I wished that would’ve straightened them. I was continually divided about my hair. I thought I’d look better without the curls. I based this theory off of Liam. He owned a hair straightener, used it every day. He was not ashamed of this. When he let his curls attack, it made him look like the nerdy overachiever he kind of was underneath, not the obvious fit for the Basic Eight. On the positive side, everyone knew to start studying for exams when his curls showed up.

“Kevin hasn’t spoken to me yet. Is that a bad sign?” I asked Louis. It was something that was prodding at me all day.

“Harry, he’s probably as shy as you. The dinner will give you two an excuse to talk,” Louis said. “Wowee, you are quite fixated on him, aren’t you? You’ve never been like this.”

“Yeah, it’s different with him,” was all I said, but it was definitely not all I thought.

Kevin was like, really beautiful. Beautiful in all the three senses I got to experience which are visual, auditory, and olfactory. Have yet to get to somatosensory and gustatory. He was just kind of amazing and had dyed black hair and wore band t-shirts like I do. He walked funny, his feet pointed inward so he wobbled a bit, but it was just endearing on him because he was beautiful. He had blow job lips, and I’m sorry for being rude, but you know, I’m a teenage boy. It was beyond physical, I can assure you. He was really incredible and he sang and stuff. I have no idea. He was great and I wanted to be with him. That simple, really.

“Must be nice to relate to all the love songs on the radio. Now stop with this lovesick soppy nonsense. On guard!” Louis said.

He passed me the branch he cracked and poked me with the other half. We started to create our own version of fencing. To avoid intellectual property theft, the rules of the game have been removed from the published version of my journal... I’m kidding. It’s just that my editor thinks it’s irrelevant.

 **Friday, September 10**  
“Harry! HARRY!” Niall called out from behind me. It was another morning and my ears were plugged up by headphones. Music made the walk to the bus stop feel shorter. There was no Z___ and his Bentley coming by today. Never happens two days in a row. 

“You are fuckin’ tall now. I just realized it coming up to you,” Niall said.

“Yeah, I had to buy new trousers last month,” I said. Height, yeah. If curls aren’t benefiting me, height will.

“Is Kevin coming to dinner?”

“I haven’t asked him.”

“Harry, you’re too _shy._ If you need it confirmed, I will confirm it for you – he is bisexual. He had a thing with Ryan Pox last winter. He plays for both teams. He swings both ways.”

“I think I need more metaphors to convince me.”

Niall gave it a think, cast his gaze upward. When he did this, he had this like, habit of rolling his tongue over his braces. It was the only time I remembered he had them.

“That’s all I have,” he said. “Anyway, you have a shot.”

“I’m quite intimidated by him.”

“You have to make a move because someone’s sent him e-mails, you know, saying they’re interested. How weak is that? You don’t want that person who hits on people through the internet to be with him. A person with social skills should be with Kevin.”

Thank you, Niall. A massive thank you for that comment. Obviously I was imploding with embarrassment. I had no idea e-mail wasn’t a good way to go about these things.

“Who do people think that is?” I asked.

“Pauline. She’s done that with Z___, remember?”

“Z___’s been hit on so many times, I can’t remember every case,” I said. “So who’s the lucky girl having secret dates with Liam?”

“Oh, the field date? I don’t know, it’s his business.”

“ _His_ business?”

“I’m trying to have my own life this year, Harry. Honesly, I don’t know how I got to this point! I’ve never cared how things turn out between people, besides the eight of us. But everyone is always asking me things! Why doesn’t anyone ask me about my amazing guitar skills?”

I told Niall to invite Kevin. By waiting for me to do it, the party would definitely be postponed to 2078.

 **Saturday, September 11**  
I came out of the shower, started to shave and all I could see was a giant red splotch which was supposed to be my face. Spots invaded this past week and their grand upheaval had been successful. In my mum’s room, I found her face cream and slopped it on, wondering if it would tone down the redness unlike my aftershave. It didn’t. I called Liam.

“Liam, what did you use to make your acne go away?”

“I had to use a cleanser.”

“What is that? Soap?”

“Essentially. With more chemicals. If you want it to clear up your face now, no such luck. Takes two or three weeks to work.”

“That long?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve discovered my greatest fear in life is looking like that man in _Grease_. Craterface.”

“I haven’t noticed you breaking out.”

“Liam? Trying to sleep...” someone in the background said.

I heard Liam shuffle off and shut a door.

“Was that Z___?”

“Yeah.”

“He slept over?”

“It’s 11 a.m. on a Saturday. He wouldn’t have woken up early to drive here and sleep more.”

“Are Kevin and Catherine coming tonight?”

“I’ll pretend you actually care about Catherine’s presence and not just Kevin’s. So yes, they’re both coming.”

Acne, pal, you gotta go. Please. You're destroying me.


	4. Sept. 11 - 13

**Later**  
As the permanent baker of the group, obviously I went to Florence’s early to prepare the cake. I brought my own ingredients and pan, as well as the bag of potatoes Florence asked me to bring.

Niall was there at her house too, and knowing the danger he poses to food preparation, Florence had distracted him with a large package of crisps.

“Do you know when Z___’s coming? I asked him to come early to help,” Florence asked me.

“No. He was at Liam’s this morning though and they’ve probably been playing Mario Kart since then. He doesn’t answer his phone when he’s gaming.”

“Oh, he didn’t tell me he was going to Liam’s,” Florence said. In an act of solidarity with Z___, me and Niall said nothing. We loved Florence, like, we really did, she was confident and cool like a rockstar, but her grip on Z___ needed to be loosened a bit.

I dumped the flour for the cake into a bowl, mixed it with the other dry ingredients. I was being particularly careful to not get it on my clothes. There was kind of calculation behind my outfit, knowing Kevin would be here. This low-collared blue shirt and skinny jean combination wasn’t determined by the mess on my floor.

I was greasing the cake pan when Louis bounded in.

“Flo, here’s the potatoes,” Louis said. “Oh no, you’ve got Niall here! Cancel the dinner, we’ll have no food left to serve by six.”

Niall punched his arm.

Florence rolled Louis’ potatoes in with my potato contribution and started counting them. “One, two, three, four...”

“Fifty-seven! Sixteen!” I said.

“Forty-eight!” Niall said.

Louis didn’t get to join in. Me and Niall were quickly shut down by Florence.

“Fuck you, lot! I will _pummel_ these at you!”

We knew that was a very real possibilty and stopped. She managed to count all twenty potatoes. I went back to baking. Niall helped out by peeling potatoes and Louis was moral support for Florence, our hostess. “Cut those carrots, Florence! Fry that chicken! Go, go, go! I believe in you!”

Z___ and Liam came in together. Florence, stressed out by now with her cooking, didn’t attach herself to him or call him over or anything. Jane, strangely, arrived separately without Josh.

Then Kevin came. I was definitely not ready for his early arrival.

I was the furthest into the kitchen, so he greeted me last. I was massively aware of my breakout. On a lighter note, I am fairly sure, upon reflection, that he shook my hand the longest.

“Oh shit, I forgot to bring something,” Jane said. “The champagne!”

This, my readers, was a lie. Jane was as good at spewing them out like Louis was. I’m sure I didn’t have to tell you that though. Nobody ever forgets the alcohol, and neither would a lightweight like Jane. Nobody ever forgets the alcohol. Please consider that as an Oscar Wilde witticism.

Florence cursed, then eased up when she checked the clock. “There’s time to get it,” she said.

Knowing this was a ploy, I waited for Jane to take the reigns and she did.

“Kevin, don’t you have a fake I.D.? Could you go get some?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Take Harry with you, he knows exactly what to get. I’ll stay here. Waiting for Josh.”

I rubbed my nose, not because it was itchy, but because I needed to do something to my face to distract me from smiling. Had no idea how I could thank Jane for this.

“I’ll watch over the cake for you, Harry,” Louis said.

“Okay. Okay,” I mumbled.

Kevin gestured for me to come forward and I had hard time accepting that I was, you know, walking with him to the shop. One of our topics of discussion was choir. We kind of really drew that one out a lot, virtually the only shared experience we had this year.

“How did you get into singing?” Kevin asked. He was doing his cute pigeon walk thing. Someone punch me.

“I dunno... I was always in choir in school and sang at home and stuff. I sing at home whenever I’m bored.”

“Your parents aren’t annoyed by it? Mine tell me to shut up sometimes.”

“No, they don’t. It’s almost like they don’t exist, really.”

“I didn’t notice until now... Your speaking voice is as great as your singing voice. It’s like, slow and careful, and rocky.”

I sort of squished my lips together in order to not grin like a maniac. I was, you know, flattered and overwhelmed obviously, and Kevin Staple absolutely 100% complimented me and I was just kind of unwell and needed respiratory aid for the rest of that walk, I think.

When we returned, most of everyone was seated at the dining table, including Josh and Catherine. It was haphazard seating, so I took the free chair beside Louis. Kevin had to sit across from me, between Niall and Florence. Z___, obviously, was on the other side of her. I don’t think I ever saw Catherine outside of school so this was the first time seeing her in her own clothes – a loose sea green dress with this chunky belt clinching her waist. She judged that well, I think. Everyone dressed up a little for these dinners – well, except Niall. He had a puffy jumper on.

Opening the champagne was the true start to our dinner parties. A year and a half ago, before Jane got hold of a fake I.D., we opened bottles of Coke.

I was given a bottle to open. It was tradition that I pop the first one. As the youngest of the group, we had agreed that I should always do it because then it would be momentous occasion once we had a dinner party and opened a bottle I purchased myself. Well-practiced now, the cork didn’t hit anyone or tip over the candles.

More of our self-made traditions came into play: Z___ was the person who originated the idea of dinner parties and taught us how to make it classy (definitely using his wealthy family gatherings as a template, wherein they consume gold and use separate utensils for every leaf of lettuce), so I poured the first glass of champagne for him.

The bottle went around and the chatter began. Josh and Jane clinked their glasses together and I heard Josh whisper to her, “To us.”

“So, Liam! How’s um, _tutoring_ , going?” Louis asked playfully. He relaxed himself by stretching his arm along the back of my chair.

“Well. I’m tutoring two students in Maths,” Liam said, pretending he didn’t know what Louis was implying. He was just as evasive as Z___, when it came down to it. As far as we knew, he never really dated anyone. He probably has it scheduled, I think, the hour he’ll start looking for a girlfriend and a due date.

Niall, knowing Kevin the most, talked with him the most. I was fine with it, I was fine that through most of the dinner. We hardly said anything to each other. I was enjoying the company of all of my friends, Catherine included. She muttered “ _qu’est-ce que c’est?_ ” when the main dish came in, and that was fine too, it was quite charming to me. Everyone complimented Florence’s chicken and the crispiness of her baked potatoes, one neatly placed on each of our plates.

“Burning with rage cooks food very well, I’ve discovered,” Florence stated and we all laughed.

Me, Louis, and Z___ stayed behind to help Florence clean. The scene featured three horrendously good-looking people and Spotty Styles. I wasn’t even making up for my mediocre appearance by being the Funny One. That went to Louis because Louis was literally flawless and unreal.

Tidying was an easy task – no excess food was being scraped off the plates. Florence had cooked just the right amount for ten perfectly balanced servings, probably the real challenge of cooking. Like, the only extra thing was my icing. I dipped two fingers in it and spread it on Louis’ cheek. I giggled at him like a munchkin.

“Away!” Louis said, holding me back by my wrists.

Z___ dipped his hand into the icing as well and got it on my neck.

Seeing this, Louis said, “Come here, I’ll get it out of your precious curls.” So I did, then all he did was like, splatter more of the icing on me, onto my nose this time. Maybe this was the solution to clearing my skin.

This was the second best part of the night. The absolute best part: Before he left, Kevin said he’d text me.

**Sunday, September 12**  
All eight judges texted me and here are the assessments:

For Kevin Staple:  
Niall – Yes  
Josh – Yes  
Louis – Yes  
Liam – Yes  
Z___ – Yes  
Jane – Yes  
Florence – Yes  
Harry – YES YES YES YES

General comments: Mannered, shares our humour, charming.

For Catherine Mortimer:  
Niall – Yes  
Josh – No  
Louis – No  
Liam – Yes  
Z___ – Yes  
Jane – Yes  
Florence – Definite No  
Harry – Yes

General comments: Dresses well, has much to say about film. French speaking skills a polarizing trait.

Final Results: Both will move on to Dinner Party: Round Two for further judgment.

**Monday, September 13**  
Niall was talking with Kevin at the beginning of choir and I nonchalantly joined in, “nonchalantly” meaning I awkwardly hovered around Niall and like, did an odd jig once him and Kevin noticed me there. Niall, bless him, knew my strategy and gave an excuse to leave us.

“So...” I said, which was, you know, the worst way to begin any conversation. But maybe my “slow and careful, and rocky” voice is enough to enchant him, didn’t matter if I was speaking gibberish like, “Hoppin’ swell times, rooster! And get them rumples sussed!” Who cares, my voice was _rocky_.

“Great party you lot had. Different from anything I’ve been to. Felt rather aristocratic,” Kevin said.

“Z___’s the source of the aristocratic atmosphere. It’s fairly contagious. I nearly wore a tiara to school today,” I said.

“You’d look good in anything, I bet,” Kevin said. Flirting, that is proper _flirting_. He likes me in like... _sexual ways._

“I’ll try out the tiara thing tomorrow then.” 

The banter stopped there. Kevin peered at the floor, and said, “I’m sorry I haven’t mentioned anything about your e-mails. I read them, and, I dunno, I got busy.”

“It’s fine. It was the end of the summer. All of us were busy,” I said. “I should be apologizing for the text...”

“What text?”

“Oh, nevermind. I was thinking of something else,” I said. I had been paranoid that the text got through because it does happen, and my alcohol-fuzzied mind sent it one more time and I don’t think I got an error message back, but thank God, it obviously didn’t get to him.

“I’m glad you liked New York City.”

“It was amazing. Really fun.”

“Will you be at the school dance on Friday?”

“Yeah, I will be,” I said. I actually forgot there was a dance. Well, I was definitely going now.

“Are you gonna –”

“I don’t hear enough of you warming up!” Mr. Evans said from nearby.

Kevin gave me a tiny smile. “See you.”

I had lunch with Louis and Jane again, as well as Josh. He was compensating for missing band practice by rapping his palms on the table. Jane told him to stop once he got a pencil and tapped Louis’ bottle of water. Louis though, joined in with Josh by shaking his container of peanuts. I bobbed my head kind of and said, “Go. Yeah. Go. Yeah” on the beat.

Jane wasn’t the one who interrupted our rousing masterpiece. Catherine did. She came to our table.

“Hi, Cath,” Jane said brightly.

“Hi,” Catherine said. She had her hands neatly clasped around a lunchbag. “Thank you for inviting me to the dinner. You’re all great to be around.”

“You’re great, yourself. I watched _The Graduate_ yesterday because you suggested it. It was good,” I said.

“Did you?” she said.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Jane said. I picked up on Louis’ displeasure. His posture straightened and his face went blank.

It would’ve been nice to talk with Catherine, there was nothing irritating about her, really, but I had plans to practice singing before lunch was over. There was this like, meeting room that Mr. Evans had students use on occasion for private lessons. Most of the week, it was occupied by teachers during lunch. Wouldn’t hurt to check. I went down alone, Louis telling me he wanted to fetch himself a drink before he followed.

A few feet from the door, I saw that the door was ajar. It was never ajar if there was a meeting in session. I opened it right up and as I did, heard, “Love, you were the one who brought me down here...”

“This wasn’t what – can you take your hand off me?”

Coleman and the assistant teacher – what was her name? Ms. Rhodes? – were in the corner of the room. Coleman had her sort of pressed against the chalkboard, not violently or anything. What was jarring was where his hand was – under her shirt, under her breast.

Before I could slip out, Ms. Rhodes saw me.

“Uh,” I said. I gulped. That wasn’t a thing that just happened in books or movies. I seriously literally gulped. It’s a real reaction to have in tense moments.

Coleman shot around.

“What are you doing here?! This isn’t a space for students! It’s for teachers only!”

“I - I wanted to practice my vocals in here. Mr. Evans lets us in here sometimes,” I said, barely knowing what I was saying, but forming a sentence somehow anyway. My mind was reprocessing the image of Coleman’s hand on the assistant.

“What did you see?”

“I saw – I saw –“ I began, very unwilling to put it into words.

“You saw nothing.”

“I saw nothing.”

“Go, you can go. Everything’s fine,” Ms. Rhodes said in an unsteady tone.

I made my exit without shutting the door, I think. And then I dashed down the hall.

“Harry? What happened?” Louis said. So inattentive to my surroundings, he came from nowhere.

I carried on walking. I was suddenly hearing students really well from the adjacent hallways or in the classrooms or wherever, I dunno.

“Hazza?” Louis asked and put an arm around my waist, the most convenient place to put it. He was too short to reach my shoulders comfortably.

“I saw nothing,” I said emptily.

“Bullshit,” Louis said. “Look at you!”

Louis led me to a rarely-used toilet. At first he pressed me about what I witnessed, then realized I needed some time to figure out how to word it. It wasn’t long until I was like, pacing in front of the sinks and telling him.

“It was... _disgusting_ , I have no idea how else to put it.”

“I wouldn’t either. Sick!” Louis said. He put his hand on his hips and flicked his fringe out of his eyes. “Does he do anything like that in class?”

“No...” I said. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

Louis took a big breath inward, about to protest, but ultimately left the matter alone. “Tomorrow, then, okay? We’ll sleep on it.”

He rubbed my back a few times. I kind of nuzzled my head against his shoulder like a cat, inviting more of it.

So, obviously, I didn’t go to Chemistry that afternoon. Louis offered to forgo Biology to be with me. He had done enough, really. I told him to stay in class. I found a group of boys in the year below playing football and I played with them.

I’m at home now and I’ve showered and I baked vanilla cupcakes, and I felt much better. I got on with my homework, then Z___ texted me after supper, saying, “Coleman was waiting for me in the car park during dismissal. Asked if I was waiting for you. Said no and he ran off. Strange.”

Okay, he wants to talk to me. Prepare yourself, Styles, that’s gonna be fun times.


End file.
